Dreamer
by celtic-roisin
Summary: Dreams are strange things. Have you ever felt like a dream really happened? Have you ever felt that a dream was so real that if you ever came out of it, you'd be so hopelessly lost that you had to find it again, every night? A DracoSeamus dream...


_Late at night I toss and turn and I dream of what I need…_

It happened last night. Well, you'd expect it to, if it happened every night. At night, I lie in bed and picture his expressions that day. I picture his face, the glint of malice in his eyes when he comes across an unsuspecting victim, the smile on his face as he torments the trio.

I can never picture him without those traces of evil, and I don't suppose I ever will. Maybe that's what turns me on, knowing that he is a bad boy through and through.

But I do often wonder if he could ever be good; care for someone and treasure them before himself. Meh, idle fantasies, I know. But sometimes it's nice to dream.

Sometimes, I dream of us together. His sleek hair dishevelled, more beautiful than ever in its untamed glory. I dream of him touching me, and when I touch myself I come so hard I wonder if I will ever be able to walk again.

And then the next day I do the same thing again; an endless cycle of lust. I watch him, picture him and groan his name in ecstasy.

My Draco.

_I would swear there's someone somewhere watching me…_

__

It's the same thing every night – I wander around unknown corridors, lost. I should know my way out by now, but I don't want to lose this rapture.

I hear a noise, a shuffle, and I turn on my heel, seeking out the culprit.

No one.

Puzzled, I turn back round, and come face-to-face with him; bare-chested, like me. I jump.

'Scared?' he drawls, mocking me with those eyes.

'No!' I return back, head held high.

'Bad luck,' he sneers, head moving forward until our noses are an inch apart, as I know he will.

I know him so well.

I walk towards the door on my left, and as I place my hand on the handle, he turns to me.

'Way out?' he smirks, 'So you are scared.'

'No.'

He steps toward me, platinum hair glinting through the semi-darkness.

_I can feel his approach like the fire in my blood…_

__

'Then what?' he questions, those steely eyes matching my gaze, shattering my confidence yet again.

'You know,' I mutter, thinking full well that he knows me just as well as I know him.

'True. Predictable old Finnigan,' he taunts, edging closer to me.

He flares my anger up so easily, and he loves it when I fight back.

I wonder if, just once, I can keep a lid on my fiery temper and be who I want to be, not just his puppet.

Maybe tomorrow.

_In my wildest fantasy…_

__

It always carries on this way, because this is what I live for.

He steps towards me, his sharp eyes tracing the outline of my body, pausing here and there, just to make sure.

A shiver of anticipation quivers up my spine as he watches, a small smirk forming, knowing that he has such power over my feelings.

'You know what I want, don't you,' he states, sending my heartbeat soaring.

God, he is so hot.

He makes me fill with lust, to want to reach out and touch him all over, to kiss him like I've never kissed him before. But I know that he has to make the first move, to make him feel powerful, dominant, in control.

So I stand, head bowed slightly, aching with want and need.

He steps closer, eyes reflecting that fire that he unleashes within me, and reaches out, his hand stopping agonisingly close, teasing me.

'C'mon… I know you want me. I know you need me,' he whispers, 'so beg for me.'

My breath hitches, and I don't know anything any more. He does this to me; _only_ he does this to me. He makes me want to die but want to live, all threaded together in one small moment. I'll never get tired of his hold on me.

I tremble over my words, feeling like the whore he wants me to be. 'Pl- Please…'

'That's better,' he leers, amused at his power over me.

This is where I always close my eyes, close them and shut myself off from the shame of what I am doing, the shame of being used so mercilessly and being thrown away, even if I do enjoy it.

I feel hands grasp my shoulders, firm and strong, and my back smash against cold stone wall, an uneven area digging into my flesh.

'Scared yet, pretty boy?'

'Téigh trasna ort féin!' I toss back, knowing full well that my insults mean nothing to him.

For that he catches my face and smashes it back, grinding it against the rough stone, capturing my lips in a devastating kiss. He pulls back, leaving me gasping for the breath I hadn't realised I had held until now.

When he hears this, he runs his porcelain fingers down my spine, emitting a faint moan from my lips.

'Enjoying it then?'

I nod slightly, not trusting myself to speak properly.

'So I don't deserve an answer then, little one? After everything I've done to you?' he spits, digging his fingernails into my sides.

I wince, whispering only one word, 'Yes.'

'Just as I though, eh, _sweetheart_? Of course you enjoy it… It's what you live for.'

I can hear the smirk in his voice as he speaks, some small part of me saying that I should run and never return, but a larger part rooting me to the spot.

Why does he have to know me so well?

_Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed?_

I can feel those merciless hands slip down into my waistband, that single fluid motion drowning me in a sea of want.

Drawing intricate patterns on my hips, that ever-hungry mouth attacks my neck, sucking and biting until I can hold on no longer and I throw my head back against the wall and arch my hips towards him.

'We're not even started yet,' he whispers, those husky words making me rub up against his groin in frustration.

I hear a faint gasp, and open my eyes to look at the hunger on his face, knowing that he won't like being made to feel how he makes me feel… like a pawn, controlled by other's actions.

And he slams me back against the wall again, expertly flipping me round so that I no longer face him; can no longer see how I affect him.

His hands dance down my flesh, stopping only to circle my navel; once, twice; and to dip into my lower back, teasing me exquisitely.

From there, he trails his nail down, slipping my jeans down to pool around my feet, the other hand flicking round to catch my throbbing erection, the contact causing me to shudder.

'Please,' I groan, helpless in his grasp, 'now…'

I can tell he is smirking, know what he is thinking, but I am too far gone to care.

Without saying a word, he drives his cock deep inside me, causing me to hiss in pain. He begins to thrust, slowly at first but getting faster and harder each time he does, still stroking my erection, causing me to grasp the wall to keep myself upright.

He knows I like it this way, and I know he likes me this way – helpless, reliant on him for my release.

'Fuck,' I hear him whisper, close to climax.

He gives one final thrust, driving himself as far inside me as he can, shuddering and releasing his seed into me, and as he does that, I do the same, my come coating the wall in front of me; an accolade to our trysts.

We never talk afterwards. We just pull up our trousers, try to regain what dignity we have left, and leave. It is shameful, exciting, lustful.

And it's our little secret…

If only.


End file.
